Author's POV

The city’s pulse thrummed through the glass walls of Khyaati's office, a glittering labyrinth of ambition and power.

She stood at the helm of the boardroom, her navy-blue saree draped with precision, diamonds at her throat catching the light as she sliced through negotiations with her razor-sharp intellect.

Her voice was velvet over steel, commanding the room filled with suited men and women, her legal talent tearing down their arguments effortlessly. She was a force—prodigious, unstoppable, a queen in her kingdom.

Deals were made, hands shook, and her name echoed through the corridors of power as the woman who never wavered.

But under her well-groomed facade, Khyaati had a secret, a delicate hope that she hid in every part of herself. She was pregnant once more.

The knowledge was a glowing fire, shining bright and a little frightening, burning in the stillness of her body. She had not informed Madhav. Not yet. Not since the last time, when the loss had been so hollowing, leaving her bleeding and him broken, his tears dripping into her hair as he cradled her through the night.

She couldn't stand to have him look at her with that pain in his eyes again, not when she didn't know if this hope would last.

She strived harder to bury the fear. Boardrooms, midnight contracts, the champagne glasses clinking at galas—she navigated it all with a smile that never faltered, her payals rustling against her ankles, a whisper of the woman Madhav loved.

The woman she was when eyes weren't upon her. At night, in solitude, she'd run her fingers over the small curve of her belly, speaking softly to the life within. Stay with me. Please.

The day had been long, the weight of her secret bearing down on her with every weighty hour. As the sun fell below the city horizon, Madhav's car arrived outside her office, his familiar figure leaning against the front, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

He was there, as ever, his presence a quiet steady in the tempest of her world. She settled into the passenger seat, her saree whispering against her skin, and he took her hand, his thumb tracing over the knuckles.

"Tough day, my queen?" he teased, his voice gentle, eyes crinkling with that boyish charm that still made her heart jump.

She laughed, a trifle too loudly, resting her head on the seat. "Just another day of ruling the world, Madhav."

He laughed, navigating the car through the city's mad chaos, his hand not once releasing hers. "Well, let's get you home, then. Your loyal subject's got dinner plans."

***

In their small apartment, the world shrunk to them alone. Khyaati removed her saree, her armor of diamonds and silk, and slipped into one of Madhav's giant t-shirts, the soft cotton enveloping her, brushing against her thighs.

It was her most loved ritual—shaking off the weight of the day, being Khyaati again, his Khyaati.

Her payals jingled lazily as she barefooted herself into the kitchen, where Madhav was stirring whatever heaven-scented concoction he had cooking, his sleeves rolled up, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Smells good," she said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a smile playing on her lips in spite of the heaviness in her heart.

He looked over, his eyes resting on her naked legs, the way his tee hugged her curves. "Not as handsome as you look in my shirt," he grinned, winking. "Come here, let me savor my favorite dish."

She laughed, smacking his arm as he drew her close, his hands on her hips. "Madhav, you're absurd," she told him, but her voice broke, her body relaxing into the warmth of his. He kissed her forehead, her nose, his lips teasing hers.

"Absurdly in love with you," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin. "You're my goddamn world, Khyaati. You know that, don't you?"

Her heart tightened, the pressure of her secret weighing on her chest. She nodded, her hands curling into his shirt, grabbing him as if he were her saving grace. "I know," she breathed, her voice low.

He kissed her then, soft and prolonged, but she drew away gradually, her smile trembling. "Let's eat," she said, extricating herself from his arms, her payals chiming faintly as she moved to lay the table.

Madhav observed her, his brow creasing minutely, feeling the change in her. He didn't press, however, simply turned away from her to the stove, humming low as he served their meal.

They ate in easy quiet, his foot brushing against hers under the table, her laughter erupting when he appropriated a bite from her plate. For an instant, it was good—just the two of them, their small apartment, their love.

But then, as she stood to clear the dishes, Madhav's eyes caught something that made his heart stop.

A thin stream of blood trickled down her leg, stark against her skin, pooling at her ankle. The plate in his hand clattered to the counter, and he was at her side in an instant, his hands trembling as he knelt before her.

"Khyaati," he said, his voice raw, urgent. "You’re bleeding."

She stood stock-still, her breath caught as she tracked his gaze. Her hand went down, fingers touching the blood, and her heart dropped. It wasn't her period—she'd had it last week.

This was something else. This was the bitter echo of a loss she'd prayed wouldn't visit her again. Her knees went out from under her, but Madhav caught her, his arms going around her, dragging her to the floor with him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice cracking, his eyes raking hers. "Jaan, speak to me."

She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening as she gritted against the tears welling in her eyes. "It's not that time," she told him, her voice firm despite the shaking of her hands. "I was. I was pregnant, Madhav. I didn't tell you. I couldn't. Not after last time."

His face contorted, the impact of her words breaking something within him. "Oh, Jaan," he breathed, his voice cracking as he wrapped his arms around her, his forehead against hers. "Why didn't you tell me? You don't have to do this on your own."

"I thought I could save you," she murmured, her voice little more than a breath, her hands clutching his shirt. "I thought… if I didn't say it, then it wouldn't hurt so much if it happened again." Her breath caught, but she didn't sob. "Not this time, Madhav. I will not break down."

He shook his head, tears streaming down his face as he cradled her face, his thumbs tracing over her skin. "You don't need to be tough all the time, Khyaati. Not with me. Let me bear this with you. Please."

She pressed her lips together, her eyes glistening but unyielding. "I'm fine," she said, the words a mantra, a shield. But her body betrayed her, trembling in his arms, the blood a silent scream of their shared loss.

Madhav held her tighter, his sobs quiet but raw, his tears soaking into her hair as he rocked her gently on the kitchen floor. "You're my home," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "And I'm yours. We’ll get through this. Together."

She didn’t cry, not even as the ache in her chest threatened to swallow her whole. She held him close, the silent payals around her ankle, the battlefield of love and loss in her heart.

In the morning, she would get up, fall into her armor of silk and diamonds once again, and enter the boardroom, radiant and unstop-pable. But tonight, in the darkness of their apartment, she allowed Madhav to hold her close, his body the only safety from shattering.

_______________

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